In a Capitol Daze
by Chinarin
Summary: An average Capitol citizen. An average Hunger Games. An average round of panem et circenses. But what is average in a world of extraordinary pleasure and pain? Or… should you even be asking? [Open]
1. Party Plans

**Lilly Note:**

**I updated the story completely, since I didn't like Fiore originally.**

**Oh, and please read the bottom note. This fic is special. (It's a... submit your own tribute).**

**Update: Sorry for me changing my mind again, but I've decided this fic will be exlusively in Fiore's POV. However, there will be special occasions when it's in the tributes' POVs (such as during the final two), but that will rarely happen. Thanks for being understanding!**

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><p>I come from a family full of success. My mother was a stylist for District One for over a decade before she retired to work on opening a boutique. My father, on the other hand, was a Gamemaker. They met while discussing arena outfits for the first Quarter Quell and went out for dinner that same night.<p>

And don't even get me started on my older sister. Dulcie's married to the current Head Gamemaker, Horatio Silver. It's disgusting how in love they are, especially when they get lovey-dovey in public.

As for my successful life? Well, it'd be awfully cliche to say I'm average when my family is so great at what they do. But picking out something I'm good at, well… there's not much.

Horatio sometimes tells me I should be a Hunger Games commentator, while Dulcie stares at him with stars in her eyes as the three of us talk over lunch on Thursdays.

And today is one of those Thursdays.

"You really should consider it, Fiore," Horatio says, taking a sip of his decaf coffee. "You'd be really good at it. The twenty-seventh Hunger Games is coming up, and I'm willing to bet they'd want you on their team."

He's dressed pretty casual for a Capitol citizen. It bugs me. How does he get away with that? Here I am with my lavender hair and fingerless gloves and tattoos, and I get no attention. Not even negative attention.

Apparently I've adopted a pretty bitter look on my face because Dulcie giggles. She's pretty attentive for someone who looks so ditzy. It's as annoying as you'd imagine. Honestly, these two would win the 'Most Aggravating Couple' award if that was a thing.

"Relax, Fifi," she coos. "I know what you're thinking." Her mouth slowly transforms into a sly grin. "You're just je-"

"I'm gonna stop you right there," I interrupt. I pause to take a sip of my sweet iced tea to draw out the moment. Then I continue.

"I'm not 'je-' of anything, okay?" I say. "I just think I'd look better than Horatio does in that outfit."

She snickers and waves her hand around, dismissing the situation. Her reflective nail polish temporarily blinds me. Who even invented that?

"Uh-huh, okay sissy." She doesn't sound convinced, but at least she drops the subject.

Horatio's been sitting there uncomfortably since my sister and I started arguing. Serves him right, right? His life is too perfect; he's too perfect.

An awkward silence settles over the three of us. It's suffocating. And I notice the lovely couple are starting to gaze at each other with lust in their eyes (I guess it's just. I'm actually not sure; I'm trying to be poetic here). Alright, it's time for me to leave before I become a third wheel. Which I already am. Maybe that's what I'm successful at.

I cough to clear the atmosphere and abruptly get to my feet. I grab my bag and sling it over my shoulder. "Well, this has been fun," I say. "But I gotta get going to, uh, do that one thing. You know the one."

I take out a few dollars and place them on the table. That should probably cover the cost of the tea - and hey, if it doesn't, I'll be long gone. Dulcie watches me do this, a look of dejection on her face.

I decide to ignore it. Instead, I offer them a warm, loving smile and wave farewell.

"So long, friend, Dulcie." I dip my head and grab my iced tea. "You can pay for the tip, right?"

I don't wait for their response. I simply turn on my heel and march away as fast as I can without looking like a total idiot. Though I'm pretty sure I always look like a total idiot, so what does it matter? I guess it's all relative.

My combat boots clunk against the sidewalk as I make my way through Capitol Sector Four, one of the city's shopping districts. It has what some would call an 'old world charm,' which I guess it does. However, it also looks like a rainbow threw up, since all the buildings are painted a wide range of pastel colors. Said buildings are actually pretty small, too. Well, at least by Capitol standards. They're at least three stories high, but eh, who's counting?

I'm on my way to Capitol Sector Two, a residential district, when I hear footsteps rushing towards me. I decide to ignore it, even though I know who it is. I'm great at ignoring stuff. And avoiding my problems, if we're wanting to be self-deprecating for a moment.

"Fifi!" the approaching person calls out. She has a high, squeaky voice that's obviously fake. She does anything to make herself seem cuter. She even goes so far as to wear pigtails, despite being 23-years-old like me.

I turn around. "Clem, my love." I open my arms wide, a smile on my face. It's obvious I want a hug. It's a joke, of course - I don't like touching people - but Clementine Prospero takes everything literally. She hurries up and embraces me tightly.

"Fifi, how are you?" she asks, wiggling out of my hug a bit too late for my comfort. "Are you excited for the Games tomorrow? I hear the Reapings are going to be especially exciting."

I grin and nod, though I honestly have no clue why she would say that. She doesn't know shit about what'll happen at the Reapings. Then again, nobody in the Capitol does. It's a surprise, right? We can hypothesize all we want, but at the end of the day we'll still be in the dark.

"Sure am," I say. "Can't wait, actually. It'll be the best Games yet; I'm sure of it. I know it for a fact, actually. I'm in contact with some people and they say they have all kinds of tricks up their sleeves."

Her large pink eyes widen. "Really?" she asks. She starts bouncing on her heels and claps her hands together. "That's so-"

I feel a pang of guilt for messing with her. "I'm lying, Clem," I say with a sigh. "I don't know anything about what'll happen."

"Oh." She stops bouncing. "Stop being so mean, Fifi!" she says, trying to hide her smile. Somehow she loves me despite my sarcasm. It's nice to have a fan.

I snort. "Yeah yeah, sorry," I say with a roll of my eyes. "Anyway, are you hosting a party tomorrow? I want to come." I take a sip of my iced tea, which I temporarily forgot about. "To be honest, I'm coming regardless of your response. Anything sounds better than sitting at home eating cheese puffs and ice cream, even if it means," I pause to shudder dramatically, "social interaction."

She giggles. "You know you're always invited to my parties, Fifi!" she chirps. "It starts at eight."

"PM?"

"AM, silly! We're watching them _live_."

Oh, goody. Getting up early to watch the Reapings with a bunch of total strangers. The Reapings aren't even the best part. Well, hopefully there'll be coffee and people will be quiet. There's only enough room in this town for one obnoxious person - me.

"Great," I say, trying to sound enthusiastic. It doesn't work. I just sound like a loser, so in short I sound like myself. "I'll be there."

Clem, on the other hand, sounds quite excited. It's in her nature. Not fair, in my opinion. "Alright!" she says. "I'll see you there, okay, Fifi? And feel free to come early to help me set up."

She smiles and I internally groan. Why is she so nice? I don't want to get up any earlier than I have to, but Clem is always so kind to me. It'd be mean to abandon her to set up all the festivities herself.

Eh. Do I really care?

Not really, but I nod anyways. "Yeah, I might!" Maybe I'll flip a coin when I get home, though I'm pretty sure I'll actually end up going early.

Damn you, Clem.

Her grin grows. It's dazzling. I swear I'm not being sarcastic this time. "Thanks, Fifi!" She gives me a quick hug before checking her watch. "Well, I need to get going to grab the cakes."

Cakes? Hmm. Maybe I should go help her… wait, no can do. I need to sleep in order to prepare for tomorrow and the days following them.

I nod. "Have fun. I'll see you tomorrow."

"Have a superb day," she says. And with that, she scurries off.

Oh boy. Getting up early. What did I get myself into?

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><p><strong>(Another) Lilly Note:<strong>

**It's been awhile since I've done something like this. A few years, in fact.**

**This is a hush-hush secrety-secret _submit your own tribute!_ fanfiction. This means I'll need all you kiddos who want to throw a kid to their death to read my profile and PM me the submission. No review-submissions will be accepted.**


	2. NEET

** Lilly Note:**

**There are still a lot of spots open, so check out my profile! Also, from now on there'll be a little question at the bottom of the chapter.**

**Also, NEET stands for Not in Education, Employment, nor Training.**

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><p><em>Sometimes it's best to just stay in bed,<em> I tell myself as I hit the snooze button for the sixth time in a row. I roll over in my bed and squeeze my eyes shut. However, I'm starting to grow coherent enough to wonder why I set my alarm clock for five in the morning on a Friday. If I remember correctly, I don't do anything this early on Fridays. Actually, I don't do anything this early on any day of the week, period.

Really, was I not in my right mind or something when I set it yesterday evening? It's not like I have anyone eagerly awaiting my presence at this ungodly time of day because they want to celebrate a holiday with me or something.

_...Wait a second._

I'm out of bed in a flash. On my way to my bathroom, I hear the antique clock in my living room chime seven times. Shit! I'm running late. How could I have forgotten Clem's expecting me to be at her Reaping party at eight am?

Oh yeah. Because I don't even _want_ to go.

I start running a brush through my hair as I consider the virtues of ditching entirely. Skipping would allow me to spend more time in bed, but I'm already up so that'd be kind of pointless. I wouldn't be able to fall back asleep, anyway. And besides, if I didn't go, I'd be labeled a bad friend as well as a NEET. But when you think about it, I'm already both those things.

Even though staying home is winning the battle in my mind, something in my heart saying I ought to go. Is it because I have an underlying loyalty to my best friend? Or is it possibly because I want to actually be successful in life and networking is how I'll get places?

No, I realize as my stomach growls, it's neither of those. I just want free food, drinks, and the chance of winning door prizes. Nothing like free crap to inspire me to get out of the house.

Now having come to a resolution, I quicken my pace. I do my makeup at record speed, knowing if I'm late I may very well miss out on some of super fun the pre-Reapings festivities. After I perfect my winged eyeliner (it makes my pink eyes pop, okay), I hurry to my closet.

It doesn't take me long to pick out an outfit, since the majority of what I wear is black. In a city full of people trying to stick out by wearing extravagant colors, I like to make a statement by dressing punk. According to my mom, it's become my "signature style." And while it hasn't gotten me much attention, I still enjoy dressing uniquely. Call it an act of fashion rebellion, if you will.

I squeeze into a black sailor-style dress and put on my combat boots and finger-less gloves. Then I grab a purse, stuff my keys and wallet into it, and head out the door. According to the antique clock, I have a little over ten minutes to get to Clem's house.

Outside the air is cool, yet fresh. It's an unfamiliar sensation by any means. _Is this how it is every morning? _I wonder. _It almost makes getting up early worth it. ...Haha! Just kidding._

The streets are unusually crowded for this early in the morning. Usually no one comes outside before noon. Everyone smiles at me as they pass by and some even say hello. At first I wonder if I put my dress on backwards or did something equally embarrassing, but then I realize they're acting like this just to be friendly. The whole city's buzzing with energy because of the Reapings.

Unfortunately, the cheer seems to rub off on me, because soon enough I notice myself smiling at random passerby as well. It gets so bad to the point where my mouth twitches as I approach Clem's house.

Actually, maybe the word "house" isn't giving it the justice it deserves. It's more of a _mansion._

Even though my parents bought me a pretty nice house, it's nothing compared to the three-story monster that is the Prospero home. Her parents occupy the top floor, but the rest belongs to Clementine and Clementine alone. It even has an elevator.

So is it an exaggeration to say her house is daunting when you first approach it? Certainly not. It's incredibly large. I try not to shudder from apprehension as I go up to the door and knock politely. I can hear the roar of the TV and the chatter of guests as they all wait for the Reaping to begin. I should've brought my watch. I'm not even sure if I'm late.

A few second pass before a brunette Avox opens the door. I hand her my purse, as is standard protocol, and head inside without a second thought.

All the lights have been turned on, making the airy downstairs even brighter. There's people of all ages here: from a little boy who looks to be two years old to Clem's great uncle.

And speaking of Clem, she notices me right away. She dashes over, her drink sloshing out of its glass and onto the tile floor in the process. Immediately two Avoxes jump to clean it up. Clem doesn't notice her accident and frankly I don't care about pointing it out. The Avoxes will take care of it. Besides, her mansion is designed for celebrations of all types, and thus celebration mishaps of all types. Hence the open tiled floor plan of the downstairs and the soundproof rooms on the floor above. And not to mention the huge televisions everywhere - standard for the Capitol.

"Fifi!" my friend shrieks. Thankfully she has the decency to set her drink down on a table before surging forward to give me a hug.

I force myself to laugh and accept the hug, though one thing's already bugging me.

I pry her away from me and ask, "So where's my door prize?"

Clem frowns and my heart falls. "I didn't do them this year," she says.

"Oh," I say, my voice deadpan. And I must look pretty disappointed, because she flashes me an apologetic look.

"Sorry, Fi," she says, smiling sheepishly. Her voice sounds sad, though, and I immediately feel bad. It's not _my _fault she didn't include the best party staple of all time.

Nevertheless, I shift from foot to foot uncomfortably. This is getting awkward. I scratch the back of my head and wave a hand back and forth to dismiss the situation.

"It's fine, it's fine!" I say.

I then make a big show of looking around, my eyes wandering to the TV. The standard introduction to the Reapings is on screen right now. This is the part where they show the scenery of the different Districts of Panem before they switch views to the ceremonies. It's probably the most boring part of the whole Games.

"So should we go sit down?" I say. I nod my head in the direction of the couch. A lot of guests are already getting comfortable and I, for one, don't want to have to stand to watch a day's worth of of Reaping and other pre-Games footage.

She nods. "Oh right! Guess standing would be a lot of work, huh?" she says with a giggle. At least we're on the same page here. I'm teaching her well.

She picks up her drink, which I'm suspecting is fruit punch, and starts off towards the couch. A few people try to distract me with compliments and other polite conversation starters, but I'm on a mission. I need to claim my spot.

I plop down on the couch even before Clem can, securing a place on the corner. Which is, for the record, the best place to sit. That way you can lean your head on the armrest when you get tired.

Clem sits down beside me. I look over at her and she looks over at me. We stare at each other for a moment, and then she says something. She's drowned out by the Capitol anthem on TV, which is irritating because I get the feeling it was something important. Maybe it was a love confession or a tip letting me know which cake is the best. A love confession would be kinda weird, though. I open my mouth to ask what she said, only this time _I'm _the one drowned out by the TV. Thanks a lot, Hunger Games commentator whom announces the beginning of the Reapings.

And once it goes silent, it's too late for me to ask. Well, it couldn't have been _that _important, right?

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><p><strong>Question: What time do you get up when you don't have any responsibilities?<strong>


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